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Chapter 30
Travis saw it all flyingapart in the blink of an eye.
Setting his jaw, he looked at Isabel. “Stay inside.”
She grabbed his arm. “Travis!”
He caught her hand, brought it to his lips. “Stay inside ... I’ll take care of Brant. Please ... trust me.”
“You?” Her voice cracked. “You, I trust. But Stephen? And fuck, Lloyd will screw over his own mother!”
“It will be fine,” Travis told her. “Remember, there are armed agents in that house. Just stay inside.” And knowing she might not, because he could see the love burning in her eyes, the same love he felt for her, reflecting back at him, he played dirty. “I know what I’m doing, Iz. But I can’t focus on helping them if I’m worried about you, too.”
She glared at him, dashing tears from her eyes. “Damn you.Go. But don’t get hurt. I swear ... so help me,God, Travis, if you get hurt, Iwon’tforgive you this time.”
He just crooked a smile at her and stepped outside, only lingering long enough to say, “Stay away from the windows.”
Then, closing the door, he called out across the street, “Hey, Stephen. You got the wrong house?”
Brant had been backpedaling while his father looked on, looking confused, the dumbass.
And Beresford had been moving forward to grab the kid.
Now, though, he had Beresford’s attention.
Pasting a smug grin on his face, he hopped down the few steps on the porch, strode down the sidewalk and started across the street.
For several seconds, Stephen just stared at him.
An expression of relief crossed Brant’s face.
Lloyd looked caught between an expression of confusion and anger, and he chose anger, not surprisingly, as he shot Travis a dirty look. “Get the fuck off my property.”
Travis ignored him, closing the distance between him and his target even more. A few more steps and he could grab Brant, get the kid behind him. He sized up Beresford, watched as the other man reached behind his back.
The tiny radio transmitter in his ear chirped.
“Target is armed.”
Travis tapped his left thigh, twice, then once, then twice again, indicating he’d received the message. To any casual observer, it would look like a restless gesture. But Ace was out there and they’d worked together enough that she’d know.
“Message received,” she confirmed not even a second later.
The gun came out just as Travis came within arm’s reach of the boy. Brant saw the weapon before his father and dropped his backpack, his naturally ruddy complexion draining of color.
Lloyd was still looking at Travis.
“Son, if you don’t get off my property—”
“I’ve had about enough of you,” Beresford said, using the butt of the handgun he held to strike Lloyd in the head—hard.
The solidly built man hit the ground.
Travis grabbed Brant and shoved the boy behind him. “Stay behind me, kid.”
Beresford looked a little thrown, but then he smiled. “I’ll just shoot through you.”
“Do that and the people on the street will hear, call the cops,” Travis replied easily. “Small town. They call the cops the second anything looks funny. And this ... ” He smirked, gesturing to the two of them. He angled his chin at Lloyd, still collapsed on the ground. “Looks damn funny. I figure it will take them, what, five, maybe ten minutes to get here. How fast can you do whatever it is you plan on doing, Stephen?”
